Another Man's Trash, rewrite from HECK!
by GialiaSpirtdancer
Summary: A complete overhaul of Another Man's Trash, introducing a few new characters, correcting a few mistakes, and hopefully an overall improvement. Feel free to contrast and compare!


_I live! Well, mostly. I know, I know, your probably thinking I should be finishing 'From the Mouth of Babes' rather than re-writing Trashy. Well, truthfully I can't continue with Babes until I fix the glaringly obvious errors in this story. Not to mention there are some sections I'm simply not happy with. I'm trying to keep the storyline pretty much the same, but I think that might be a bit of a challenge as I'm introducing a new character, speeding some things up, and slowing the rest down. Anyhow, below the disclaimer is the first chapter. Hope you enjoy it._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not lay claim to any Marvel Characters that may appear in this story, including Nightcrawler (obviously) Wolverine, Gambit, Storm, etc etc. I do lay claim to Morgan, Ryan and Ryanne, the rest of the Flannigans, the Bad Guys, and the rest._

**I**t was the end of August and abysmally hot. Typical for this time of year in Ohio. Usually at night it cooled down to something almost bearable, even though the air still had that sticky feeling to it. No such luck tonight. It was still as warm as it had been before the sun went down, only now there wasn't even a breeze to stir the air. If I didn't know any better, I'd have almost sworn that it was even hotter now than it was when I'd first gone to bed.

Of course, I hadn't been able to sleep. The sheets only stayed cool for so long before they became uncomfortably binding. I usually didn't have this much of a problem with the heat, but then my air conditioning was usually working. Unfortunately for me it'd gone out two days before, and the Maintenance guys in my complex still hadn't gotten around to checking it out. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by that. Sure, the apartments looked nice enough, but it was all fixed income, and of course fixed income housing attracts a certain type of people, for the most part.

I made far too much to be living in these apartments, but that was because I'd moved in when they'd first built them. It was only two years after I'd moved in that they were purchased by a different company, and turned into fixed income housing. I along with the current residents had sort of been grandfathered in. Most of them had long since moved on, but I hated the thought of leaving my apartment just so some cracked out idiot could trash the place.

Besides, my little cul-de-sac was still nice enough. Not all the neighbors were drug ingesting bullet-heads. Most of them were actually fairly polite and considerate individuals. My downstairs neighbor was even nice enough to bake me a batch of chocolate chip cookies and tell me how sorry she was when my cat died. Any woman who can understand how much a pet means to a person-how a pet stops being an animal and becomes a part of your family-is pretty much good in my book.

I sighed heavily, and took a sip from the ice cold can of soda I'd retrieved from the fridge. The can was sweating like crazy, and I ran it across my forehead before setting it back down on the table. I retrieved a cigarette from the pack of smokes on the table, lit it, and gazed across the parking lot in rapt contemplation of absolutely nothing.

It's not like the view from my deck was all that spectacular anyway. Just the stair case leading up to this level, a few junky cars-mine included-two dumpsters, and a row of pine trees planted partially for privacy, and partially as a wind break from the highway on the other side of the trees. It did little for the noise of the passing traffic. Actually, the noise didn't bother me that much. It was almost soothing, and it helped with semi-meditative state I was unintentionally achieving.

I let my eyes drift, and they came to rest on a particular junk pile that had special meaning for me. The woman who was currently driving it had inherited it from her asshole of an ex-husband. She and her two kids lived three doors down from me. It wasn't long after I moved in that she started receiving nightly visits from the raving lunatic that would bang on her front door, scream obscenities, and break things. It took even less time for me to realize that the jerk off had been abusive to both her and her kids, and that these nightly visits left her in a state of near paralyzing hysterics. I'd started to get really sick of his little serenades, encores performed from the back seat of a police cruiser. It had gotten so bad that the lady in the office told me they were considering asking the poor woman to move out because of the complaints.

Well, I've ever been a sucker for a person in distress, and I'd decided to take matters into my own hands.

I can count the number of times I've used my Gift to help people out on one hand. Being what I was, and being exposed as what I was, could have fatal consequences. Still, I felt it was worth the risk to bring peace to the neighborhood and help the lady out. So I decided to lay a little trap for her ex, and teach him a thing about manners.

So, I'd waited for him, conjured up an illusion of various large men, and had them threaten to beat the living snot out of him if he'd so much as thought of harassing her. I'd even conjured one around myself, so that I could be close enough to deck the bastard if he called my bluff. Which he did. It was the most satisfying bloody nose I'd ever given somebody. And with twelve siblings, most of which were boys, I knew how to throw a punch.

He hadn't come back since. It had taken a few weeks for the woman to actually let her children emerge from their small apartment, and over the next few months I'd witnessed a subtle transformation in both her and her kids. She was even dating again, and that was enough for me.

I chuckled to myself as I took another sip of my soda, and decided that living here was definitely more entertaining than I thought it was ever going to be.

I had NO idea how much of an understatement that was. But I was about to find out.

The sound of a vehicle coming down the road drew my attention, and I cupped my cigarette in my hand to conceal the cherry red glow of the tip. A dark colored cargo van drifted into the parking lot. It was extremely shiny-looking, and it definitely looked like something that had been made within the last two years. It's lights were off and it seemed that whoever this person was they were trying to attract as little attention as possible.

In silence I watched as it turned around in the parking lot, and very carefully backed up to one of the dumpsters in the lot. Things were definitely getting interesting. I mean, who dumped off their garbage at three o'clock in the morning? People with something to hide, is what my father would say. And three of my brothers. And my uncle.

Not to say they were suspicious people. Just, my dad and Uncle Pat were both cops, and so were brothers Gaelin and Daelin. My brother Deacon wasn't a cop, he was a Fed, and worked for the FBI. As different as my family is, some things just come naturally, and apparently wanting to solve crimes and helping people was one of them. I still remember the rousing games of Clue that we used to play, and twice a year my parents would host a "Murder Mystery Dinner" in which one of the guests ended up playing 'dead' and everyone else had to solve the crime. Yeah. My family was big into mysteries.

The van rolled to a stop just far enough from the dumpster that they could get the doors open. A large man unfolded himself from behind the wheel, and I thought I must have been imagining things at first. He stood a full head and shoulders taller than the van and in two strides had made it from the driver door to the dumpster. Another, much smaller looking man appeared from the other side. Actually, he could have been an average size guy, but next to the giant he seemed rather short. Then again, I think anybody would have looked short next to him.

I took a moment to study them both. They were wearing dark, nondescript clothing, and both had dark ball caps pulled low over their faces. What struck me as being odd was that they were both wearing long sleeves and gloves, and with the shadows covering their faces it was hard to tell even what race they were. Could be white, could be purple. I had no way to tell. This was all serving to make me even more suspicious as to what they could be doing. I was willing to bet dollars to donuts it was illegal.

Unless of course, they just wanted to rummage through our garbage looking for stuff. There wasn't anything at all illegal about that. Somehow I had a feeling that wasn't what they had in mind.

Shorty clambered into the back of the van and the Big Guy waited patiently, looking around as if to make sure no one was watching. I was sitting deep in shadow, but I still conjured an illusion of the wall and an empty chair, to make doubly sure that he couldn't see me. I felt goose bumps rise on my skin as his head swiveled in my direction and then moved on. Major creepy vibes.

After a few moments the Big Guy reached into the cargo area of the van, and started pulling out a long bundle. Shorty was on the other end of it, and together they heaved it into the dumpster. Just like that. The sound of the object settling into the bin was startlingly loud-rustling plastic, crunching cardboard, and the jingle of glass banging against various objects. Then the two men got back into the van and left without so much as a backward glance.

Very, _very _peculiar.

I think I waited for all of about ten seconds after the sound of the van had faded away before jamming my cigarette into the ashtray and going inside to fetch my flashlight. I've always been a bit anal about emergency situations, and I had about five flashlights placed in areas I spent a lot of time in. It's not that I was afraid of the dark, just that I was extremely clumsy and prone to hurting myself if I couldn't see where I was going.

I padded barefoot out into the parking lot, small rocks digging into my feet and dirt sticking to my toes. I ignored the discomfort, and made a bee-line for the dumpster. After all, it was just rocks and dirt, and lord knows I've had worse muck on me from time to time.

The dumpsters were relatively new, with heavy black plastic lids and easy to open side door compartments for folks who couldn't heave their garbage up that high. I decided that a side door would probably allow me better access to whatever it was the guys had dumped. I turned on the flashlight and stuck the end of it in my mouth, gripping it with my teeth. It was a small flashlight, about as big around as a quarter, and the one I usually held this way while working on the guts of my computer. It had permanent grooves from my teeth in the rubber handle.

I made sure my bite was solid and the flashlight was going anywhere, and then grabbed the handle of the dumpster door with both hands. Honestly, I'd expected it to stick a little and squeal like a sunofabitch when opened, but instead it flew back so fast I almost fell on my ass. I was also shocked that it didn't make a sound. I held onto the handle as I got my feet back under me, then removed the flashlight from my mouth. It was only slightly drooly, and I wiped my hands on the worn denim of my cut-off shorts before shining the light into the darkness.

Black and white plastic bags, glass bottles, and old pizza boxes along with other things littered the inside of the can. It stank to high heaven, and the walls were covered with all sorts of things I'd rather not think about. There was even an old lamp leaning in the far corner, its lamp shade tattered and torn and the sad clown porcelain base made even more pathetic by the broken bulb still housed in its socket.

The object turned out to be a bundle of fabric that was lying with one end propped heavily against the corner opposite the lamp. It appeared to be something large and heavy, wrapped in white cotton sheets with a blue flower print. A dark stain was slowly creepy across the fabric, and I felt a twinge of dread when I spotted it.

When the bundled shifted and emitted a deep, low groan, I shrieked and dropped the flashlight into the trashcan. My mind began gibbering at me that was in that bundle of fabric was a person, and that I needed to call someone _right now_ and have them come help them. This was officially a crime scene, and I shouldn't be tampering any more than I already had.

Then it groaned, and shifted again, and a hand emerged from the fabric. It was the hand that stopped me dead in my tracks and brought my poor little brain to a screeching halt. The fingers on that hand were tridactyl, with two large fingers instead of five, and one really big thumb. Which clearly meant that whoever was in that bundle of fabric wasn't completely human.

Which meant that person had more in common with me than with the average beat cop. It also meant there's no way I could call a squad to come take him to the nearest hospital. Briefly, I considered calling my brothers-non mutants raised in a family of freaks- but discarded the idea. Yeah, this was officially a crime scene, but the victim was likely to die before they ever made it here. So clearly the priorities were get him out of the garbage and into the apartment, call someone who can patch him up, and then call one of my brothers or someone else to come check out the dumpster.

Well, the patching up part was easy. I wasn't the only mutant in the complex. My best friend (and, it bears mentioning, my first love) also lived here, and his abilities were more than a little useful. Decision made, I left my flashlight where it was and reached in to grab the sheets.

"Sorry guy," I muttered, "but this is probably going to hurt. Don't be scared, I'm just trying to help." I grabbed the end of the sheet, and gave an almighty tug. I succeeded in getting him half in, half out of the dumpster. The poor man didn't make a sound, and was in fact as limp as a bag of laundry. I paused for a moment, panic seizing me, until I made out the faint sound of his breathing.

It took a bit of work to lever him up onto my shoulder in a fireman's carry. He was shockingly heavy, the feel of him solid and thick and betraying a muscle mass that frankly surprised me. Why oh why couldn't he have been soft and flabby? Never before had the fact that muscle weighs more than fat been brought home so quickly.

I staggered across the parking lot under his weight, the previously annoying pebbles and rocks now exquisite agony when trod upon. I had to pause when we reached the stairs to catch my breath. Then, with a rush of adrenaline and determination, I fumbled up the stairs and into my apartment.

Once inside I collapsed to the floor, the weight of the man bearing my down. We landed in a bloody tangle of limbs and bed sheets, and I had to take another moment to catch my breath. Every muscle in my body was screaming about how naughty I'd just been to it, and I shouldn't even think of moving, but I still managed to crawl over to my desk and grab my cordless phone.

I dialed the first and most important number, and was greeted with an extremely blearily "hello?"

"Ryan." I gasped into the phone, "its Morgan,"

"Morgan?" His voice was instantly alert. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"Not me." I managed. "Found someone. Not the hospital type. Here at home. Help please." I took a deep, shuddering breath, and said "God I hurt. Carried him up my stairs. Please hurry, he's hurt pretty bad."

"Give me five minutes." I heard a fumbling click on the other end of the phone, and hung up. Five minutes seemed like an eternity to wait. So I decided to go ahead and call someone else while I was waiting, and while everything at the dumpster was still fresh.

"Whoever this is, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up."

"Daddy, its Morgan." I said.

"Morgan? Sweetie, you do realize it's a quarter after three don't you?" he asked tersely.

"Is it? Gosh I hadn't noticed. What a remarkable thing." I said.

I heard the other line pick up, and my mother's voice came on the line. "Is something wrong honey?"

"No mom, go back to sleep. It's Shop Talk."

"Oh alright then. Have a good night." I heard a click, and waited a moment for my dad to say "Go on."

"Nutshell. This van comes out of nowhere, dumps a guy in real bad shape in my dumpster, and takes off. No plates, nothing to make the van stand out, nothing to make the guys really stand out but one was huge and the other not. I would've called through official channels, but the guy's special, and I don't think that would have gone over well. Someone needs to get over here and take a look at the scene in an unofficial capacity before my neighbors wake up and unintentionally trash it." Any other time I would have found the pun amusing, but right now I had more important things on my mind.

There was a long moment of silence. "Aha. How's the guy?"

"Alive. Barely. I've got Ry-Ry coming to take a look at him." I said. As if by speaking his nickname conjured him, Ryan came skidding through my doorway. His dark blonde surfer-hair was tousled from sleep, and all he was wearing was a pair of pajama bottoms. I was willing to bet he'd been wearing less than that when I called. "Speaking of, he just got here. I gotta go Dad."

"I'll send someone over ASAP." He said. "Don't touch anything else, and don't throw anything on him away. In fact, I'd take pictures of him before you let Ryan touch him. If you think he'll last that long."

I shook my head. "Daddy, I have a visual photographic memory, remember? No need." And boy wasn't that a handy little thing to have. I think it was because of my Gift that my brain was wired that way. If I'd seen something, I could recall the image in perfect detail. I tell you, that made studying in school so easy it was damn near terrifying. That is, if I'd cared enough to apply myself in school. Not to mention it gave me loads of stuff to hang over my brothers and sisters. If I said I'd seen something, then I'd seen it, and no amount of lying could get them out of it.

He chuckled. "Right. Do what you have to do. I'll have someone there shortly."

I hung up the phone, and smiled weakly at Ryan. "Close the door. Your patient awaits."

He closed the door, and I crawled across the carpet back to our patient. Ryan flicked on the light switch and I squinted in the sudden brightness. The stain on the sheets was even more vivid in this bright white light than it had been in the flashlight, and I couldn't believe that someone could lose that much blood, and still have his heart beating. There was a thick, coppery scent in the air and something that smelled vaguely like rotten eggs. My mind worked to identify the scent quickly. Sulfur. He smelled like Sulfur.

Weirder by the minute.

"Holy hell," Ryan cursed softly as he knelt by the victim. "This is bad. This is very bad. Help me get him unwrapped."

Carefully, we peeled the bloody sheet away from him. There was a brief moment of shock as we pulled it away from his face and it revealed not normal skin, but a blue so dark it was nearly black, covered in what appeared to be an extremely short, delicate fur. His hair was pitch black with blue highlights and slightly long. It was tangled badly and matted with blood and who knew what else. It was quite clear that patches of his face were abnormally swollen, and blood was leaking from both his mouth and his nose. Not a pretty sight.

"Gah. He looks like shit." Then his eyes flickered to me and he stammered, "Ah, not because he's blue."

"I know what you mean." I said. "Relax, I'm not that sensitive."

When the sheet was stripped away completely, it was revealed that he was wearing a black leather jumpsuit that covered him from neck to ankles, and he had black leather gloves and soft black leather boots to match. His feet were built similarly to his hands, with two large toes and a slightly protruding heel. The whole look screamed "Don't notice me" and I was willing to bet that this was the kind of fellow who could hide just about anywhere if the shadow was deep enough. The most surprising thing was the long spaded tail that lay limply on the sheets. Just from a glance I could tell it was longer than his legs, and it too was covered in a short, fine fur.

"Jesus! What, was this guy attacked by Edward Sciccorhands or something?" Ryan muttered, gesturing at the dozens of cuts in his leather suit. "Unbelievable. No wonder he's bleeding so much."

Carefully, Ryan placed a hand on the mutant's forehead, and closed his eyes. He was about to exercise his gift, and I held back the millions of questions I had.

Ryan's gift was Healing. If you were broken, bruised, perforated, pierced or otherwise injured he could heal it. Diseases were beyond him, but if it was an injury of some kind then he could fix faster than you can say "Ambulance." Part of that gift was being able to lay his hands upon a person, and tell you exactly what was wrong with them. Well, as far as injuries go. When it came to things like HIV and cancer, he was just as much in the dark as the rest of us.

He was silent for a moment before saying "Three broken ribs. Left lung fluidy. Concussion. Left femur fractured six centimeters above the knee. Both shoulders dislocated. Numerous lacerations and contusions, Huh. That's strange." He removed his hand and said. "Help me roll him over. His whole back is just one giant mess, and I can't tell what's going on with it."

Carefully, we rolled him into his side. I was very glad I couldn't see it very well, because Ryan quickly paled and his skin took on a greenish tinge. "No wonder. There's not an ounce of skin on his back. Let's roll him over completely."

We rolled him over, and I stared at his back in horror. The muscles in his back were clearly exposed, gleaming wet and red in the light. I could see them expanding and contracting as he breathed. I felt my stomach heave and turned away. I swallowed firmly and took a few deep breaths to help get my stomach back under control.

"I can't heal this." Ryan said, shaking his head. "Not by myself. I need Ryanne to help."

I bit my lip. Ryanne was Ryan's twin. Yes, I know, extremely cruel parents, but the nicknames helped to clarify. Ry-Ry and Anne were pretty hard to get confused. She was also a mutant, and her gift was to function as a living battery and ability augment for any mutant who could figure out how to tap into the boundless amounts of energy she carried within her. It was a pretty scary concept, especially considering the number of sickos out there who would just love to get their claws into such a person. But Ryan was fiercely protective of his twin, and aside from himself, I was the only other person who knew of her gift. "Well, let's give her a call then."

Ryan shook his head. "I can't. She's in Vegas. Medical conference."

Have I mentioned yet that both Ryan and Anne were doctors? Funny, that.

"We have to do something Ry. I won't let him bleed to death on my living room floor." I insisted. "Can't you heal him just a little bit at a time?"

Again, he shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. Once I start, I'm committed. I can't stop. If I tried healing him now, I'd kill myself trying."

I cursed, and glared at him. "So I'm just supposed to let him bleed out right here on my floor?"

Ryan gave me an anguished look. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. It wasn't Ryan's fault that his gift worked the way it did. I knew that if he could change it, he would have. We gazed at our patient hopelessly, knowing that he was dying and there wasn't a damn thing we could do about it.


End file.
